


and eat it too

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Birthday Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: Bokuto's birthday bash had cake, candles, presents (!!!), volleyball, yakiniku (!!!!!!), cake, friends, laughter, fun, and cake. What more could he want?





	

When the guests had left the party, Akaashi fell asleep in Bokuto’s lap. 

Bokuto stroked through his hair, his other arm slung over the back of the couch. Boxes of opened presents, ripped wrapping paper and ribbons, piled on the floor. He had lost count of his presents after the tenth box, which pleased him. Pastel confetti scattered over the hardwood floor, a mild flower fall. The lights had dimmed in their short foyer. 

When Bokuto had demanded a surprise party, he’d expected Akaashi to mechanically text a few friends to meet at a bar. He hadn’t expected the balloons and the banners, the cake and the popping streamers. Akaashi had even found a few old friends who he had thought were out of the country, and they had all cheered for him. It was a good birthday. It was a very good birthday. He felt a good bone tired satisfied, like if he curled into bed, he would fall asleep immediately. 

He felt a gentle brush against his groin. When he glanced down, Akaashi had raised his hand to glide against his thigh, thumb over the bulge while his fingers fanned over his waistband. Akaashi finally raised his eyes to meet his gaze, and quirked a dangerous smile. 

“Hey,” Bokuto said, which he meant as a greeting, but rolled out gruff and gravelly, edged with lust. Akaashi raised himself, pulling himself up by the back of the couch. Sleepiness still clung to his eyelids, but the glint in his eyes was sharp. He straddled Bokuto’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. His hair was a casual tousled. 

“Hey,” Akaashi said simply. “You’re the best.” 

“Yeah.” Bokuto laughed and inclined his neck to kiss him, but Akaashi leaned down beside his ear, his voice soft and crisp in the silence. 

“I mean it,” he whispered. “You’re the best.” 

Bokuto laughed again, slower and more nervously. It was one thing when Akaashi said that after Bokuto had lived in a blanket cocoon for an entire day, inconsolable and wretched. It was another to hear that while he was still in a good mood from the party, the quiet in their living room a comforting presence. He could hear every enunciation in Akaashi’s voice, the sharpened points of his words, the soft curl of the lulls, the wet sounds of his mouth. Akaashi was watching him intensely, studying his expressions. Bokuto offered a half-grin. Akaashi smiled slowly in return. 

It was all strangely vulnerable. Akaashi didn’t offer niceties without reason or prompting. But he had prepared an extravagant party on the thinnest of reasons, and now he sat close to Bokuto, the light fanning a halo over his hair. Akaashi stroked the side of his face, cupping his chin, running his fingers through the short strands of his hair. Slowly, Akaashi kissed him. Bokuto could taste the lingering sweetness of the cake, the swirl of cream and hint of sticky fruit. 

They kissed on the couch, the curtains drawn. Akaashi was a good kisser. Bokuto liked the way Akaashi’s hands would curl around his jaw, fingers drawing underneath the lobe of his ear to pull him closer into the kiss. It felt intensely comfortable, like he had finally returned home. The couch creaked underneath them, the pillows bending under the weight of Akaashi’s knees. He could feel the protrusions of Akaashi’s hips, pressed hot and tight against his stomach. When Akaashi deepened his kisses, Bokuto wondered if he was imagining the arch of his back, the deliberate sway of his hips, the something that ignited a smoldering burn in his stomach. But then Akaashi leaned back and smirked, and Bokuto knew he wasn’t imagining anything at all. 

“Hey,” he said, but it trickled out like a whine. Akaashi’s smirk widened. After the last guest had departed, Akaashi had changed into his comfortable shorts, which were small and riding up his hips. Bokuto ran his hand up the exposed thigh, enjoying the firm warmth. Something about the solid muscle and clean lines excited him, the slow stretch beneath the skin. Bokuto’s hastened breathing hadn’t gone unnoticed. Akaashi settled deeper against Bokuto’s lap, pressed flush against him so his shorts easily revealed the softer inside of his thighs, an obscene flash that stirred something in his chest. 

With a soft growl, Bokuto pulled him into a deeper kiss and kneaded his hands into Akaashi’s ass, cupping and gripping in hasty bursts of desperation. He was rewarded by Akaashi’s low moan, faint in sound and loud in vibration. Bokuto pushed his hands higher, slipping underneath Akaashi’s soft cotton shirt until it folded over his knuckles. He rested on the small of Akaashi’s back, palms brushing hot against his tidy sides, back muscles straining. He was getting harder with every small rut that Akaashi was pressing into him, the fabric uncomfortable against his erection, the way Akaashi was gasping in short bursts, a silky and shaky inhale, somehow still crisp in his ears, and he wanted to kiss him all over, touch him all over. 

Akaashi pulled away to grab the hem of his cotton shirt, tugging it over his head. He drew it off with a gracefulness that Bokuto and his raging erection no longer possessed. Bokuto tried to admire Akaashi to give him the appreciation he deserved, but he was already kissing down Akaashi’s clavicle when he remembered. He ran his hands against his sides, thumbing the hard core of abdominal muscles, feeling the way Akaashi breathed in short fluttering breaths. 

A little more desperately and roughly than he wanted, Bokuto kissed his way over the curve of Akaashi’s chest, slipping the small and pert nipple into his mouth. He could hear, feel, Akaashi’s groan, the way his hips jerked. Bokuto pressed his tongue down onto him, swirling in damp and persistent licks, and he let his hands wander up Akaashi’s bumpy spine and ghost along his sharp shoulder blades. Bokuto opened his mouth wider and sucked with greed. He needed to taste him. It filled him up with something so good. Akaashi’s hands tugged into his hair, loosening the strands. Bokuto drew back and tried to blow a stray hair from his eyes, and Akaashi shuddered. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, a hoarse half-whisper. “Can I—”

“Keiji,” Akaashi said. “And yes.” Bokuto numbly kissed down Akaashi’s chest again, feeling the soft rumblings of breath, and began to work his teeth gently over the other nipple, small tugs and hasty kisses along its side. Throughout high school, Akaashi had simply been Akaashi, and now Akaashi was his boyfriend and if Bokuto allowed himself, he could say Keiji, too, something special for him. He felt overcome with something. He dropped his hands back down to Akaashi’s ass and keenly pulled at the fabric, fingers sliding across his hole, and he could feel the twitch of Akaashi’s cock against his stomach while rutting against him, hips sharp against him, and Akaashi was gasping in short, frantic bursts, and Bokuto wanted to bring him over the edge, wanted to feel the hot warmth spill over his shirt, but Akaashi was pulling away. 

“Not yet,” Akaashi murmured, panting. He sank until his full weight was on Bokuto’s legs, pressing his forehead into Bokuto’s shoulder. His fist clenched and unclenched against the couch, thighs still shaking. 

“Why?” Bokuto asked, bewildered. Akaashi only set his mouth into a firm line, hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks particularly flushed. 

“Wait in the bedroom,” was all Akaashi said, “and take off your shirt.” Akaashi slid off Bokuto’s lap. Bokuto mumbled something in reluctant agreement, already missing the warmth of Akaashi wiggling against him. But he obediently stood up and padded to the bathroom, grabbing his shirt from the back and tossing it aside in the hallway. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his knee towards his chin to slide down his compression socks from when they’d played volleyball in the afternoon. 

From beyond the door, he could see the lights flickering off. Akaashi appeared in the doorway, brightly colored bag in hand. He leaned against the frame, looking into the bedroom with an unreadable expression, cheeks still tinged red and hair mussed. 

“Like what you see?” Bokuto grinned and flexed his bicep, his other sock still hanging off his foot. 

“Yes,” Akaashi said, and crossed the room calmly. Bokuto’s grin faltered. 

“Akaashi,” he said slowly. “Is something wrong?” 

“Keiji. And no.” Akaashi pulled a small bottle from the bag, sharply ripping the plastic covering. Bokuto didn’t recognize the bag from his earlier extravagant unwrapping of presents, but the pattern was covered with birthday cakes and balloons. He yielded easily when Akaashi briskly pushed him down, back flat on the bed.

“Did I do something bad?” Bokuto tried, resting his hands on his stomach.

“Why would you think that?” Akaashi looked at him critically, even while he uncapped the bottle. “Do you not like this?” He knelt politely on the bed between Bokuto’s legs. 

“I mean, I like it, I like it a lot! But, I mean, isn’t it usually, different, a little different, wait, Akaashi, wait,” he said, twisting when Akaashi leaned towards his groin, “I, I was playing, I was playing volleyball earlier, and I ate a lot of yakiniku, like, a ton, Akaashi, wait, sweaty, a little, a lot, running, maybe I can, we can just, right?” 

“I like your smell,” Akaashi said. “But if you’re worried, this is supposed to be edible.” He twisted the bottle around until Bokuto recognized a sort of fruity design across the label. Bokuto turned his gaze towards the flat ceiling, feeling the familiar edge of the pillow under his head. Hesitantly, he nodded. 

“But,” he said, hooking his fingers together, “if you, don’t, then, that’s okay. I was playing a lot today! It was a lot of volleyball and I didn’t really think about tonight and, right.” 

“I know. I saw you play.” Akaashi kissed his thigh, and Bokuto could feel him smiling. “You played very well. You’re very strong.” 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, a little desperately, because the feelings were strange and unfamiliar, but in a good way, like the biggest hug. He wiggled against the bed to help Akaashi pull off his shorts and underwear, and Akaashi’s mouth was on his cock, hot and warm. He finally sat up on his elbows, trying to keep his knees casually crooked to give Akaashi space. Akaashi had his eyes half-open, not looking up, focused. His tongue languidly stroked down the shaft, damp swirls and thick lines. 

“Shit,” Bokuto said, twisting his fist into the blanket, because Akaashi wrapped a damp hand around the base of his cock. It was slightly cold, but the lube dripped down Akaashi’s hand clear and slow, rolling down his flushed cock and the veins and Akaashi’s mouth was wrapped around the head, sucking softly over the slit, and he breathed heavily. Akaashi finally did look at him, meeting his eyes, and smiled with Bokuto’s cock pressed against his cheek. 

Akaashi was usually neat and tidy, his desk always arranged with casual efficiency. Now Akaashi was engulfing him with his mouth, sloppy and wet, a desperate and frenetic energy barely hidden by the rising rhythm. It seemed almost filthy, the way Akaashi spread his mouth open wide to reveal his tongue, hand so politely pressed against the base. Bokuto could hear the wet squelches from Akaashi’s hand and the liquid had begun to warm, and he could feel Akaashi’s tongue chase down a few long trails, curled tight to lap it up. Akaashi was sucking hard around the tip, hand stroking and twisting what he couldn’t slip into his mouth. Bokuto’s heart was beating loud in his head and chest, a resounding thump, and hazy warmth built up in his stomach, slow rolls of tense heat. 

“Akaashi,” he said in a gruff growl, and rested his hand tentatively over the soft curls. Akaashi glanced upwards. With a swift move and damp hand, Akaashi was grabbing Bokuto’s wrist and shoving it against his head. Bokuto clenched his fingers down harder between the strands of hair, and Akaashi hummed with a rough relief. Akaashi briskly stroked down the hard shaft with a quicker pace, slickly fisting it in his hand and pressing down with a hot, tight pressure. Akaashi kissed the side of his thigh, and Bokuto could feel it, the shape of Akaashi’s swollen mouth, and then he could feel an electrifying swiping lick up his balls and Akaashi’s finger persistently rubbing along his taint and he shuddered, yanking at Akaashi’s hair, and Akaashi mumbled out an appreciative moan with his mouth full of cock. 

It was feeling good, really good, all over, and Bokuto grinded his teeth over the pulsating sensations. It wasn’t just the persistent mouth or warm curved hand, it was that Akaashi was making good sounds that vibrated into his cock like a low hum. He was audibly sucking and licking with wet sounds, intensely focused and gasping, keenly, for air before he widened his mouth and lavished over the sensitive head again. Even his deep intakes for breath seemed muted, like silk folding over and over again in waves. He was trying to finger himself, but he was also rutting against the bed in shaky quirks of his hips. Bokuto pressed tightly against Akaashi’s head, and Akaashi seemed to take it as a sign to try and take in more of him down his warm and tight throat, lips wrapped around the shaft, and Bokuto was feeling warmer and warmer and he grunted when his elbow gave out underneath him and he shuddered. 

“Did you hit your head?” Akaashi sat up, the bed creaking when he leaned forward with a slight narrowing of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah. I mean, no. Shit. Wow, Akaashi, I mean, wow!” Bokuto dragged himself up, leaning against the headboard. “I’m gonna, I’m really gonna, come.”

“Can you wait?” Akaashi’s typical placidity faded when he grimaced in effort, pushing fingers inside himself. “I want to ride you.” 

“Oh,” Bokuto said faintly, blood rushing from his head. “You’re not—tired? You planned the party and you just, with your mouth.” Akaashi made a distracted, thoughtful sound, hand brushing against his jaw with some tenderness. But he was already climbing into Bokuto’s lap again, palms resting on his broad shoulders. 

“I suppose I’m a bit tired,” Akaashi said dryly, like Bokuto was asking strange questions, “but I’m not passing up this opportunity.” 

“Oh?” Bokuto slid his hand over Akaashi’s hip, steadying him. 

“You’re quite amazing,” Akaashi said, matter-of-fact and blunt. He visibly surveyed Bokuto’s chest, dropping his gaze down to his cock, and in a move clearly fueled by Bokuto’s masturbatory dreams, licked his lips. Bokuto barely had time to choke out the beginning of his sentence, which turned out to be insignificant and trivial, because Akaashi was already sinking down onto him. He stopped halfway down, catching his breath in deep intakes. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said. It was everything, the folds of Akaashi’s breathing, the way he sat, taut and tense, cock flushed and curved slightly, the lines of his thighs and the strictness of his chest. He was trembling from the effort of holding himself up, but even his gasps had an underlying warmth and richness, the same smoothness of his speech. But it was also the way Akaashi had praised him and the way Akaashi looked at him, the way his boyfriend wanted him, and it wasn’t like he was sad before, but it felt like a hidden tired was falling away and he felt enthralled and gushing and satisfied and like he was the best, after all, he was the very best, and it was like Akaashi knew what he was thinking because Akaashi smiled at him and touched his face. 

“It’s Keiji,” Akaashi said, and then he was burying himself down to the hilt, head bent forward and thighs trembling. It felt good, being inside him. Bokuto groaned, wrapping his hands around Akaashi’s shuddering sides. Akaashi raised himself and brought himself down again, squeezing Bokuto’s shoulders, and he started an erratic rhythm, slamming himself down again. 

Akaashi felt hot and tight around him, and Bokuto was close to the edge, shaking and trying to say Akaashi’s name, but getting cut off by his own needy grunts. Akaashi was sliding down over him, stomach flexing under a thin sheen of sweat, and it was almost like he was tightening around him. It was still too slow, torturously slow, but Akaashi sometimes let out a soft cry when he grinded down. He was gasping, sounding like he was struggling for breath and gulping when he finally managed to breathe, panting and faltering and face so red. Bokuto wanted more, more of his warmth, the way Akaashi’s thighs brushed over his legs and the damp wetness over his stomach where Akaashi’s cock dripped pre-cum from the friction and it smelled sweet, the slick lube, and it smelled like Akaashi, too. And Akaashi was feeling something, groaning when he sat, and he was moving with aggression, hunger, recklessness, back arching in pleasure. But it wasn’t enough, it still was too slow, the tight heat dragged on and off, and Bokuto grabbed onto his hips again. 

“Can I move,” he started, and Akaashi looked at him with wanting eyes and said, “Yes,” and Bokuto touched him on the thighs and Akaashi slid off, settling back into the bed. Bokuto kissed him frantically underneath his chin, at the soft skin, and Akaashi wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. When Bokuto pushed into him again, Akaashi groaned with sheer relief, arms clenched tighter. He could feel Akaashi digging his nails into his back and he was kissing rough and sucking hard and it smelled like sex, staining into the bed. The sound of sharply slapping skin filled the room and Akaashi was panting, struggling for breath, somehow still subdued and smooth despite the way he clawed over Bokuto’s back and the tense hot pleasure was rolling through him now, and he was coming heavy into Akaashi, hips still jerking in erratic, desperate shoves, still trying to kiss Akaashi. 

“I can, I can,” Bokuto mumbled into his throat, fumbling in the warm haze. He barely wrapped a hand around Akaashi’s cock when Akaashi was groaning, gulping, coming in a short burst on his stomach. He was loud and quiet, all at once, and Bokuto felt a rush of affection at the way Akaashi’s face slowly smoothed over, the way his cock twitched underneath his hand. When he pulled out, the come dripped along the inside of Akaashi’s thigh. With a good numbness, he thumbed and smeared it. 

“Sorry,” Akaashi said, still catching his breath, “about your back.” 

“Oh.” Bokuto tried to look behind him in futility, though he could already feel the sting. “Sorry about your neck.” 

Akaashi gave a wiggling shrug, touching briefly where Bokuto had bit him. Bokuto slid down, apologetically kissing Akaashi’s ear. He didn’t feel like getting up. Akaashi apparently felt the same, turning to kiss him briefly and dragging a hand through Bokuto’s thoroughly mussed hair. Bokuto rested his hand over the curve of Akaashi’s hip. 

“Hey, Akaashi,” he said. Akaashi had mostly closed his eyes, but he opened them now, glancing at him. His fingers calmly played with the strands of Bokuto’s hair. 

“Thanks. I think. No, I mean, I know. I know thanks. I mean, it was really nice, you planning this party and we got to play volleyball and eat really good food! And this gift was really good, too. So, thanks.” Bokuto nervously clenched his hand over Akaashi’s stomach, but Akaashi only parted his lips, narrowing his eyes vaguely in confusion.

“Gift?” Akaashi glanced at him. “I got you shoes. They’re still in the closet. Did you already find them?” 

“Shoes? Wow! Are they the ones I really, really wanted? They’re supposed to have really fancy—wait, no, I mean, this! This!” Bokuto waved over the bed frantically. Akaashi sighed, still relaxing in the languid afterglow.

“This was a gift for me,” Akaashi said slowly and deliberately. “A reward for a successful day. Like I said, your gift is shoes. They’re the ones you wanted. I put them behind my jackets.” 

“Oh,” Bokuto said. Akaashi fully closed his eyes, though his fingers still weaved into Bokuto’s hair. Bokuto watched him breathe with the slight rise and fall. He felt warm, pressed up tight against his arm. Bokuto glanced at the closet, then the hallway leading to the living room with the banner visible from the bed. He couldn’t help it. He grinned. 

“Thanks, Keiji,” he said. He didn’t miss the way Akaashi’s mouth curved into a slight, satisfied smile.


End file.
